


The Apple of My Father's Eye

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Brief mentions of Tony Stark/Others, Brief mentions of racism, Brief mentions of the AIDS crisis, Cap-Ironman Bingo, Daddy Issues, Drug Use, Getting Together, Howard Stark finds Captain America, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Jealous Tony Stark, M/M, Pre-Canon, Seduction, Slutty Tony Stark, Smoking, Steve Rogers violates the bro code, Steve is 27, Tony is 19, Underage Drinking, Virgin Steve Rogers, poor coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Tony Stark has never gotten along with his father. Though Howard admits Tony has limitless potential, it’s wasted on the boy. He’s too unfocussed, too wild, and much, much too clingy. If he is to take over Stark Industries from his old man one day, Tony needs to buckle down and get serious, man up so to speak. Like Captain America. Now that right there was a real man and patriot, or so Howard is always telling Tony on their annual sojourns to the Arctic. Tony stops attending them when he is 18, thinking Howard to be an obsessed old man, Captain Ahab after his white whale.And then Howard actually finds Captain America in the summer of 1989 and brings him home, treating him like the golden son he’s always wanted, much to the annoyance of his actual flesh-and-blood.For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2020 Round 1 – Pre-Canon Fic.
Relationships: Howard Stark & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Howard Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 40
Kudos: 388
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	The Apple of My Father's Eye

**Author's Note:**

> When I looked it up, Tony received his undergraduate in 1987 and two master’s degrees in engineering from MIT by age 19 (1989). So, in this fic, he’s essentially freshly home after achieving major academic milestones impressively early when Howard throws a Steve-shaped grenade into his life. Just making this clear right off the bat: This fic features an age gap between Tony (19) and Steve (27). Don’t like, please turn back now.
> 
> Also, I know Steve can speak German in 616, but I’m not sure if he does in the MCU. It’s for a bit, okay?

“The Valkyrie was traveling along this trajectory towards New York,” Howard’s finger traces an arc across the map’s surface as he speaks to his lead surveyor, “going 412.7 miles per hour. I recovered the Tesseract here,” he points to a pin. “Captain Rogers couldn’t have flown much past that. We assume he made contact within minutes of killing Schmidt and losing the Tesseract. Peggy was on the call for one minute two seconds before Rogers indicated he was going to crash the Valkyrie into the water. It was another minute five seconds before the transmission cut out. Assuming he was flying at an elevation of 20 to 25,000 feet and maintained velocity on the downward trajectory, that means the angle of descent ranged from– Tony cut that out!” He yells at his young son.

Tony freezes, the scale model of the Valkyrie in his tiny hands held over his head, frozen in a nose dive.

“Put that back,” Howard orders as he steps around the table. “Put it back where you got it from. You know you aren’t supposed to play in here. Where’s your mother? Maria?” He looks around as if expecting his wife to materialize from thin air when summoned before calling out louder still, “Maria! Tony got in the study again!”

Maria pops in then, rushing to collect their son. “Tony, come here, sweetie,” she says, taking the model airplane from his grasp to place it back on the display cradle, adjusting slightly to straighten it out.

Howard is already shooing both out the door. “Go, go, go. I’m in the middle of something.”

It isn’t until he emerges later to see the surveyor out that he finds Maria waiting for him in the foyer, a slight tightness to her expression that does not bode well for him. She smiles and makes nice with their guest upon his exit, but as soon as the door shuts, she turns to her husband. “Tony has been waiting for you to come home all day,” she states, a touch accusingly.

Howard doesn’t bend to her reprimand. “You know the schedule. I leave next week. We’re exploring a spot 5.3 klicks west of last year’s site. We think the ice drift might have carried him a bit further than anticipated,” he explains. “I have a good feeling about this summer.”

“All the more reason for you to spend time with him now. We’re celebrating his birthday this weekend, and then you’ll be gone for three months.”

Unnoticed by both his parents, Tony toddles down the stairs, holding a book out in front of him. He pauses at the grand balustrade, waiting politely for the adults to finish their conversation before turning the corner to make his presence known. Tony knows if he waits, his request has a greater chance of success.

“You know my work… It’s important,” his father is saying.

But his mother takes a steadying breath, signifying the end of her patience. Tony braces himself for his mother’s wrath, but she only tells his father, “He’s already gone, Howard.”

Howard’s reply is equally soft. “He gave so much, and– and I promised Peg I’d bring him home.”

“He’s been down there for decades, and he’ll be there for some time yet. But Tony needs you now. He needs a father,” she pleads with him.

“Maria, be reasonable here. Tony’s safe. He’s fed and clothed, and he has all the advantages most children can only dream of. More than you or I ever had as children ourselves. I just don’t know what else he could want. What more you can ask of me?”

“Your presence, for one.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You know what I mean, Howard. Tony needs–”

Tony drops his book, bouncing it on the last step. He picks it up, then peaks around the staircase.

His mother’s tone immediately changes to something softer and higher, more appropriate for a child of his tender years. “Tony! What are you doing out of bed, sweetie?”

Tony looks past her at his father and holds out his book as high as he can. “Daddy, story?”

His mother looks over her shoulder at Howard, her expression grim and brow raised as if to say ‘See?’ She turns back, her face brightening as she gathers him in her arms, her hand tracing soothing circles in his back. “I’ll read you another, and then you’ll go to bed, alright? It’s already past your bedtime.”

But Howard rolls his eyes. “You’re a soft touch, Maria. He’s conning you. He just doesn’t want to go to bed.”

“He’s three.”

“So he’s advanced.”

She thins her lips at him over their son’s shoulder. “…This discussion is not over.”

“Just put him to bed. We can talk it over later.”

And so Maria does just that, reading him his second bedtime story for the night and tucking him in. She leans over to kiss his forehead just as he asks, “Mommy, why Daddy not like me?”

Maria stills, then her arms are around her son. “Your Daddy loves you. Very much. He just… he has difficulty showing it sometimes.”

“Why?”

She hesitates for a moment, her face unreadable. “That’s just how he is, sweetie. Now, good night. Sweet dreams. I’ll leave the night light on.”

* * *

Tony is four when he builds his first circuit board. He had tested it on a breadboard, then drawn out the design with Sharpie, ruler, and a steady hand, and carefully etched and assembled the unit, just like he’d seen his father do on many occasions. He then used it to fix an old radio and amplify its volume.

“You did this all by yourself?” his father had asked, popping out the circuit board to inspect its craftsmanship.

Tony nods, shifting on his feet and digging a toe onto the concrete of his father’s workshop.

“Huh. Now that’s really something, son.”

It was the first time Howard had commented on how bright his boy was, and Tony had nearly beamed, his heart swelling with pride and his father’s acceptance.

“You want to see something real swell?” And that’s when Howard had taken Tony on his knee to pull apart one of his own robots, showing Tony its various components, what made each part run and how they are put together.

It had been the greatest day of Tony’s young life.

* * *

Tony never loses his love of robots, even as his relationship with Howard deteriorates.

“I don’t want to go, Daddy. Please! Please don’t send me away!” a seven-year-old Tony begs, causing Jarvis pause as he holds a set of neatly folded shirts over the boy’s trunk.

His father is unmoved. “We’ve already been over this, Tony. Phillips Academy Andover is the best place for someone of your exceptional intelligence.”

“But I won’t see you or Mommy or Jarvis anymore!” Tony nearly wails.

Howard simply sighs, fingers steepled at his temple as he tries to stave off a headache. Maria had demanded he be the one to break the news to their young son that he was being shipped off to a premier boarding school in Massachusetts. He supposes she had hoped that witnessing the boy’s distress first-hand would sway him.

No such luck.

“You will be back for Christmas and then next summer–”

“You always go away every summer!”

And so his father tries to reason with him, “Tell you what. If you’re a good boy, if you listen to your teachers and reach the top of your class, you can come with me next summer. How about that?”

Tony sniffles. “Really, Daddy?”

“Yes, but only if you’re a good boy, you understand?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

And so Tony is a good boy. He listens to his teachers, receives full marks on his classwork, and only cries a little at night, when the other (older) boys are sleeping so they won’t tease him and call him a baby. Because Tony is not a baby. He is a big boy. He is going to accompany his Daddy next summer and find Captain America, and then his Daddy won’t have to leave anymore. He will be so proud of Tony then, he might even pick him up in a great big bear hug like he sees Daddies do on television. He might even be so pleased, he won’t send Tony away again next year.

All Tony has to do is find Captain America.

* * *

Tony doesn’t find Captain America.

True to his word, Howard takes Tony on his next sojourn to the Arctic, but the trip itself is miserable. Tony is cold and bored, and his father pays even less attention to him on the boat than he used to at home. He is constantly underfoot, his father so concentrated on the mission that he has an assistant tuck Tony in at night, a young woman named Anne that perhaps feels a little sorry for the boy.

“Did you see the narwhals, Tony? Didn’t they look like unicorns rising from the ocean?” Anne asks him as she puts on a second layer of blanket, wrapping him up warm and tight.

“Joe said they were boys fencing over lady whales.”

“Joe says a lot of things.”

Tony snuggles in deep and looks up at Anne with wide eyes. “Do you think Daddy will go whale-watching with me tomorrow?”

“Mr. Stark is very busy–”

“He’s always busy!” Tony had cried.

She had comforted him then, smoothed out his hair and whispered reassurances, and the very next day, his father did spend an hour with him, pointing out the belugas swimming alongside their boat.

It isn’t until Tony is ten that he realizes Anne isn’t just another assistant who simply spent time with the lonely boy out of the kindness of her heart but a nanny Howard had hired specifically to handle him. It doesn’t change how he feels about her. After all, the quickest path to consistent companionship is through steady employment. Why else would someone want to spend time with Tony Stark if he isn’t paying them? It was no small wonder his father never did; Tony simply cannot pay the man enough to make it worth his time.

* * *

Tony is eighteen when he finally quits the Arctic Expedition.

The prior Christmas, his best friend Rhodey had invited him on a road trip to follow the North American leg of AC/DC’s ‘Blow Up Your Video’ World Tour after they complete their finals through the start of the new academic year. Howard had insisted the search for Captain America is more important, with more far-reaching consequences than Tony’s passing infatuation with his little ‘boy band.’

“It is well passed time that you put aside childish things and become the man you were always meant to be, son,” Howard had told him.

“Howard, please,” his mother had tried to interject, hand on his elbow. He pulls away.

Tony’s eyes narrow, his hands thrown up in the air. “I’ve spent the last ten summers chasing a ghost!”

“And I’ve spent the last forty-three.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Howard grits his teeth. “It is our duty as patriots–”

“I’ll be eighteen this year, and for once, I just want to have a fun summer with my friends where I’m not freezing my ass off on a boat while you obsess over a long-dead friend you failed to save!”

That must hit a chord deep within Howard, because the man falls silent, allowing Tony to continue, “You’re Captain Ahab, and you are _never_ going to catch your white whale. You’ll _die_ first and take the rest of us with you.”

“Howard, Tony is old enough to make his own decisions,” Maria tells him.

He looks to her, and something passes between them. Tony can see the exact moment he decides to drop it (and Tony) altogether. “Fine. I’ll just go by myself.”

If Howard wants to waste his time, it’s no skin off Tony’s nose.

* * *

Tony and Rhodey drive across the country, following AC/DC that very summer, and Tony doesn’t think of Howard bundled up in his parka, scanning the ocean floor, trying to find a pile of bones in a rusted shell. How can he, when there is good music, good friends, and hot women wanting to hitch a ride to the next tour site?

“Hey man, you might want to slow down a little,” Rhodey says from the backseat, where a woman is nearly seated in his lap. “I know you want to make it to Portland early, but that’s not going to happen if we get pulled over going nearly a hundred.”

Tony eases up off the gas.

Rhodey looks at him in the rearview window. “You want me to drive?”

“No offense, Rhodey, but if you don’t want us to be pulled over, maybe the rural countryside isn’t the best time to switch places.” The last time Rhodey took over in rural Minnesota, he had been stopped no less than three times in as many hours for going four over the speed limit. It’s the car, Tony knows. It’s too nice for cops to believe a black man could have a legitimate reason to drive it. (Or maybe the real problem is racism but try telling that to a man with a hair trigger palming a gun at his hip.)

“Fair enough.”

It’s Howard’s prerogative if he wants to waste his life chasing Captain America.

* * *

Tony graduates from MIT at nineteen with two Masters Degrees in physics and engineering. Howard had attended his graduation ceremony, given him a firm handshake while posing for a family photo, and then left for his annual Arctic Expedition before Tony could even sober up enough to appreciate that the man had actually delayed his trip by a couple weeks to witness this momentous occasion. Or at least that’s what Howard had felt was his due: gratitude.

Tony had felt nothing but bitterness.

Rhodey had left to join the Air Force while Tony returns home to Manhattan, ready to join the Research and Development team at Stark Industries. He spends his days familiarizing himself with their current projects while sketching out a few ideas of his own and his nights partying it up at various clubs. He’s underage nowadays, but the New York law raising the drinking age from 18 to 21 had just passed a short three and a half years prior (with the last hold-out state changing only the year before) and so enforcement is still a tad lax, so long as he had his fake ID. It’s a good fake, too, not the laminated cards that cost less than $5 a pop and fooled no one. His name is Christopher “Chris” Allen, born July 8, 1967, and he is 22 years old or so he tells any bouncer on a power trip when they try to test him.

Chris is very popular. With a charming demeanor and unlimited funds, people flock to him every night to dance and drink. He’s hooked up with both men and women in public restrooms, used to having sex in claustrophobic quarters with the stall lock digging into his hip or tipped up against the sinks (if he’s high enough not to care about being a public spectacle). He loses track of names, is uncertain whether he even knew some of them in the first place, chasing that rush of love and acceptance in easily-obtainable single-serving trysts.

“You like that, baby,” an older man named Alex is muttering, his voice gruff as he thrusts inside Tony. “Come on, let Daddy take care of you.”

Tony had only looped his arms around the man’s neck and moaned, planting wet kisses along his exposed collar bone.

Afterwards, when Alex had discarded the condom and washed his hands, he writes his number on Tony’s arm in pen and leaves.

Tony washes it off, rubbing at the digits with soap until the marks are blurred and barely legible.

* * *

His life changes irreparably the day Howard returns home early, with a _living_ Captain America in tow.

“Hey son, you’re just in time,” Howard had said, positively giddy, when Tony had walked through the door after a long day in his private lab at SI. There’s a man standing beside him, tall and blonde, wearing khakis and a blue checkered button-up. They don’t look much alike, but Tony wonders if perhaps he has a previously-unknown older half-brother from an indiscretion before his parents’ marriage judging by the stranger’s probable age. Now this is a son Howard could be proud of: clean-cut and all-American and everything his father had ever wanted in an heir.

“Meet Captain Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, in the flesh.”

_...What?_

Tony cants his head as he regards the stranger who he has to admit does closely resemble the original, and yet it is impossible, preposterous even. Unless–

“Are we cloning people these days?” It’s not exactly ethical, but perhaps Howard had finally tired of not finding Captain America and had gone off the deep end.

Howard’s face drops, scrunching into one of displeasure. “No, of course not. This is the original, found in the ice, not a day older than when he had gone under. That’s Erskine’s super soldier serum at work, I’m sure of it.”

Captain Rogers looks uncomfortable, but he’s cordial enough as he holds out his hand for a shake. Perplexed, Tony accepts.

“Pleased to meet you, Anthony. Your father has told me so much about you.”

His palm is warm and the skin calloused, as if he had spent years throwing and catching the signature shield designed by Howard himself.

Fuck, it’s really him, isn’t it? And Howard had dragged him all the way here as what, a giant star-spangled I-told-you-so?

“Captain Rogers will be staying with us for the time being,” Howard says, but Tony hears the underlying command. _Behave. Perform for our guests, Tony._ His father then turns to Jarvis. “If you would be so kind as to prepare a room,” he says, as if any of them have any choice in the matter.

“Right away, sir.”

* * *

With Captain Rogers around, Tony witnesses a different side of his father. Whereas Howard had always seemed distant and stern and constantly dissatisfied, now he is relaxed, almost convivial, in Captain America’s presence. Howard always had it in him; it’s just that Tony alone had never been enough incentive to draw out that side of him.

“Daniel’s a good man,” he’s telling Rogers over after-dinner drinks when the three of them are lounging in the parlour room with Howard sitting next to Rogers and Tony across. “I know it’s difficult, but he really made her happy.”

“I saw,” Rogers replies flatly. “Peggy sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“She has good taste.” He takes a sip of his ever-present scotch. “You know she’s worried about you, wondering how you’ve been adjusting to… well, everything. There are… well, we have services now – high-tech matching algorithms and video profiles – that will help you find someone–”

“Hey Cap, catch!” Tony launches a brown paper bag at Rogers’s head, which he catches easily. Damn him. “It’s a present. A Welcome-Back-to-the-Land-of-the-Living care package for when you’re ready to get back out there.”

“Tony…” Howard says in warning even as Steve unwraps the gift and pulls out a box of novelty condoms in patriotic colors. They’re the new Magnums, a larger condom about to hit wider circulation that fall. Either Captain America has been enhanced in _all_ areas and could use the space or the larger size will make him feel as inadequate as Tony does on a daily basis since the man’s been defrosted.

So really, it’s a win either way.

“God damn it, boy,” Howard says, leaning forward to glare at his son for embarrassing him in front of _the_ Captain America.

Tony is blasé. “What? You’re the one who woke him up in the midst of an AIDS epidemic. Don’t you want him to last more than two years? AZT is not a cure.”

Steve looks up from reading the back of the box. “What’s aids?”

“New viral disease. Only affects hemophiliacs and degenerates,” Howard replies before addressing Tony. “Of which he is neither.”

But Tony simply ignores Howard, instead providing his own instruction. “Just don’t dive in without a raincoat, Cap, and you’ll be fine.”

Later, Tony goes outside on the back terrace to get some air to clear his head (or so he tells Howard). Really, he could just do with a solitary smoke for a couple minutes.

Unfortunately, Rogers has the same idea, something Tony only finds out when he’s already got the lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Tony turns back to look at the garden. It’s too late; Rogers has already seen him. He might as well enjoy this pack before his mother confiscates it and his father gives him a good talking-to. He lets out a puff.

“You going to turn me in to my old man?” he asks the man as he approaches.

Rogers settles in next to him, leaning forward over the balustrade to enjoy the view. “You’re an adult. How old are you anyway, like twenty-two?”

“Nineteen.”

He gives Tony a double-take. “I thought Howard said you were out of college. So, is this your summer break then?”

“No, I graduated. Two Masters Degrees in Engineering.”

“Impressive. I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks. That’s more than Howard said.”

He’s looking at the cigarette in Tony’s mouth, at the low red ember glowing at the terminus. “You mind if I bum one off you?”

Tony figures why not; the man has taken everything else away from him. And so he taps out a couple sticks and holds the pack at arm’s length. Rogers accepts one, puts it to his lips, but finds himself without a light. Not one to be a poor host, Tony takes his out and flicks it on for him. “These things will kill you, you know.” He cups the flame, and holds it to the end of the other man’s cigarette, allowing Rogers to take a few puffs for the end the catch. “They’ve done studies since you’ve been on ice. They’re bad for you. That’s why Howard quit.”

“My doctor used to prescribe me cigarettes to treat my asthma… back when I had asthma.”

“And I’m sure that did wonders for your damaged lungs.”

“Probably not, but they sure had a kick to ‘em before Rebirth.” Rogers takes a long drag. “Now, they barely do anything at all except pass the time.”

“Must be nice, being remade into peak human,” Tony says offhandedly.

Rogers has a far-away look in his eye. He declines to reply, so Tony continues, “You were always Howard’s greatest war story. He never shuts up about you. He was proud to have a hand in building… all that.” He makes a vague hand gesture to indicate the man’s perfect body. “Unlike the Manhattan Project, you want on to save millions of lives. Or so he always says after he’s had a few and feels like rehashing old triumphs and regrets. You weren’t a disappointment.” _Unlike me_ goes unsaid.

Rogers looks pensive, carefully weighing his words before finally telling Tony, “He’s proud of you, you know that? You were one of the first people he told me about when I woke up.”

“The screw up?”

“His exceptional son. Said you have the potential to do great things.”

Tony scoffs. “If only I can learn to apply myself,” he finishes for the man. “How close am I? You can be honest.”

Rogers blows out another stream of smoke, watching it dissipate into nothing. “You’re young. There’s no war, no rush. You’ll find your bearings.”

Tony angrily stubs out his cigarette against the marble column to extinguish it, letting it drop into the bushes below. “I’m not a child to be coddled.” He turns to lean back against the railing.

“No, but you have your entire future ahead of you.”

“You sound like Howard.”

Rogers simply hums. “I’m an old man. We tend to sound alike.”

“Not that old.”

“Yeah well… Looks can be deceiving. I’m a relic of a different age.” He stubs out his cigarette as well but holds onto the butt, probably so he can dispose of it properly later. “A dinosaur.”

Tony pushes off, heading back towards the sliding doors. “You coming back in?”

“No,” Rogers replies, still gazing out across the garden. Without looking back, he dismisses Tony with a wave. “You go on ahead without me. I’m going to stay out here for a spell.”

“Suit yourself.”

* * *

Howard invites Rogers to the country club or the Elk Lodge or shuffleboard or something equally boring that Tony can’t quite remember, but he personally would rather endure Chinese water torture than attend.

“Jesus Christ, Howard. Hasn’t the poor guy suffered enough?” Tony complains. “Why don’t you let me take him out for once?”

But Howard is dismissive. “Steve doesn’t want to attend your – what do you call it – your ragers.”

“Better than hanging around a bunch of old stiffs.”

“We’re the same age.”

Tony throws up his hands in frustration. “His time spent as a Capsicle doesn’t count!”

Howard considers the offer from a different perspective. “Maybe it will do you some good spending time with a bona fide American hero instead of your trashy friends. You can take him out, but he gets to choose what you two do.”

Tony can convince Rogers to venture off the straight and narrow; he’s sure of it. After all, he has corrupted purer souls (e.g. Rhodey).

“Deal.”

* * *

“And where are we going again?” Rogers had asked for the second time. He doesn’t quite look at Tony, who is shamelessly changing in the tight space beside the uneasy senior citizen in the backseat of their private car.

“We’re going to a club,” Tony explains as he shimmies up a pair of tight pants.

When Tony momentarily stops squirming, Rogers hazards a glance at him, quickly returning his gaze towards the black divider separating them from the driver when he sees Tony with his front fly unfastened, trying to zip up. A pretty flush spreads across the apples of his cheeks.

Tony rolls his eyes, unbuttoning his stuffy shirt and shrugging it off to replace it with a more stylish band tee. He completes the look with a leather jacket, and runs his fingers through his hair to tame it as much as he can.

“Is there a dress code, or…”’

“In a matter of speaking,” Tony glances over at Cap’s outfit. He’s a young man wearing grandfather chic, but it sort of works for Rogers, in an I-just-got-off-the-bus-from-Ohio sort of way. Tony would have brought clothes for him as well, if he thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell that anything he owned would fit over the man’s arms, much less his broad chest. “You’ll be fine. You’re with Chris now.”

“Who?”

Tony flips open his wallet, showing him his fake ID. He then opens the billfold, flashing his wad of cash and a couple condoms, to pull out a fake for Rogers. “You’re Roger Stevens, born July 4, 1962. I kept it simple. Remember that date, because if Arlo is running security tonight, he’ll quiz you.”

“Okay, I can see why I’d need a fake ID. No one is going to believe I’m 71, but why do you need one? Your name isn’t Christopher Allen, and you told me you’re 19.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “Nuh-uh-uh. None of that. Tonight I’m Chris, and I’m 22. Don’t narc on me, Roger.”

“And the condoms?”

He gives him a rakish grin. “You know the boy scout motto: Always be prepared. I’m usually BYOC, but if you meet a nice honey, then I’ll be willing to part with one. It’s been what? Forty-four years for you? I’m surprised you can walk with that terminal case of blue balls.”

And now the blush is undeniable and kind of adorable. “Sex isn’t everything.”

“You sound like a virgin,” but when Rogers doesn’t protest the assessment, Tony does a double-take. “Wait… are you a virgin?”

And now the man is huffy. “I’m 71, not dead.”

“Funny how that wasn’t an answer to what should have been a yes or no question,” Tony quips, but when Rogers refuses to engage with that line of conversation or offer further denials, Tony simply shakes his head and lets the subject drop. The man is allowed his secrets, especially pertaining to his rather perplexing (lack of) sex life. “Just let me know if you need a condom. Hell, you can have both of the ones I brought tonight if you can swing it with your… um, supercharged stamina.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“You said it yourself: You’re not dead yet, Cap.”

It just seems wrong to Tony that someone who looks like Rogers at his advanced age had never experienced the carnal touch of another, so wrong that Tony takes it upon himself to scope out a nice prospect for him. If there’s one thing Tony excels at, it’s finding other people looking for a good time. He could do the same for the hapless Captain, maybe show him something in the future worth experiencing, something to bring him out of the perpetual funk that seems to always surround the man out of time…

By God, he was going to help Captain America get laid.

And here Howard had thought Tony a poor host and even worse patriot.

The club he had selected for the night is a little more low-key and less crowded, the press of bodies not quite so dire and the music at a reasonable volume, not blaringly loud so as to overwhelm Cap’s senses. And while not a gay scene, it is welcoming of those of different sexualities. As soon as he sets up Cap with the lady of his dreams, he can go on the prowl for a different type of dreamboat.

“Hey Clarice, have you met my friend here, Roger? He’s ex-military, single, and ready to mingle,” Tony introduces him to Prospect #1. Clarice is almost as big of a slut as Tony with the same taste in men (e.g. tall, older, with muscles for days). They had hooked up once or twice back in the day, but they worked better as friends. Rogers could do worse.

He had left them alone for five minutes to get a round of drinks, but by the time he returned, Cap is standing awkwardly in a corner and Clarice is nowhere to be found.

Tony sets the drinks down. “Okay, what did you do? Out with it.”

“She told me I smelled good, and I panicked and said that was because I use both nostrils.”

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

“I’d like you to meet Linda,” Tony brings over Prospect #2 to meet his hapless friend. “She’s a secretary at Oscorp. Roger is an army vet, just got back from being stationed in Germany, so he knows absolutely nothing of current American trends.”

“Ah, schön dich kennenzulernen, Roger,” she says, giving him a little wave.

“Um… Gute nacht?”

Okay, so that one’s on Tony.

Tony prides himself on being observant, even when slightly buzzed. It had served him well knowing which men would be open to a hookup and which to avoid. He is not particularly surprised when he sees men checking out Cap – he is quite the specimen after all – but it is surprising when he sees Cap returning their glances, particularly this one diminutive brunette in the corner.

“You want I should…” Tony tips his head in the direction of the handsome stranger.

Cap plays dumb. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

Okay fine. If Cap wants to stick to women for his first outing, Tony can work with that. He does find it somewhat hilarious that Howard’s golden boy – purportedly his shining triumph, his greatest invention of all time – is queer.

He supposes that’s one thing he and Rogers have in common.

“Cindy is a marine biologist. She’s fascinated by deep sea creatures…”

* * *

By the sixth woman, Tony thinks the pressure might be getting to the man. “Roger, this is Allison. She–”

Rogers’s glass splinters in his hand.

“Um… yeah, I think I left the stove on. I’m just going to…” She backs off entirely, beating a quick escape away from the duo.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Tony,” Rogers says evenly, the tenth Long Island iced tea Tony had purchased for him not even making a dent in his sobriety, “But I just don’t think this dating thing is for me.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Who said anything about dating? It’s 1989; no one dates anymore. The best you can hope for is someone who doesn’t get on your nerves long enough to get you both off.”

“Kind of pessimistic for someone so young, don’t you think?”

Tony gives up. If Rogers is so set on being a stick in the mud, Tony is going to have a good time without him. Now that he considers it, Tony hasn’t been laid in weeks, not since the good captain crash-landed into his life. It was time for a little self-care, Tony Stark style.

He needs to catch up if he is to salvage the night, so he orders a couple doubles and knocks back each of them in quick succession then hits on the first muscle-bound meathead who shows even the slightest interest.

“What do you say we get out of here and go back to my place, baby?” A guy Tony thinks might be named Sven asks, his hand sliding up from Tony’s knee to thigh.

“Why leave the party? I know a bathroom tha’s much closer.” Even drunk, Tony isn’t dumb enough to let anyone get him to a secondary location.

But Sven(?) is looking past him now, at something or someone behind Tony. “I think your boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

Tony follows his gaze. “My–”

“Is this guy bothering you?” Rogers asks, suddenly appearing over his shoulder looking like the personal bodyguard Tony definitely did _not_ want. He’s addressing Tony while staring down his date for the night.

Tony sighs, his head tipped down at the bar. “He s’not my boyfriend. I’m his babysitter.”

“Aren’t you a little old to need a babysitter?” Sven(?) challenges the interloper.

“Older than you know.” He holds out his hand for a shake. “The name’s Roger.”

Not-Sven accepts. “Mike.”

There’s a tense moment before the man-formerly-known-as-Sven nearly crumples and withdraws his broken hand, the bones crushed in the middle where Cap’s fingers had been.

“Jesus Christ, Rogers!” Tony exclaims, reaching over the bar for a towel. “What’d you do?”

“I– I think I have to go,” Mike says weakly, wrapping the towel over his busted hand before heading out towards the exit.

Tony rounds on Cap. “Did’ya have’ta break his hand?”

“He tried to break mine first.”

Tony cradles his face in both palms, his fingers raking up and over his hair, before he reaches over to pull his drink close.

“Don’t drink that,” Cap tells him, pushing the glass away.

“God, you’re not my father.”

“He put something in it when you were distracted by the hand on your knee.”

_Oh._

“Why don’t we head out? Go home, yeah?” Cap suggests.

It’s the sensible thing to do. This night is a bust and unlikely to improve. Still–

“Nuh-uh. I haven’t even gotten anywhere with anyone yet. I spent 83% of the night tryin’ to find someone for you already. Jus’ let me have this.” It has been so long, and unlike Cap, Tony is simply not cut out for celibacy.

“Tony. You’re drunk. You’re incapable of consent, and besides that Mike guy was bad news,” Rogers tells him, arms crossed like the world’s most disappointed dad. Tony already has one of those; he doesn’t need another.

And so he reaches over to lightly stroke the man’s bicep, countering with his own offer. “How about you show me a good time then, Cap’n Handsome?”

But Cap is unmoved. “Your judgment is impaired. You’re impaired,” he says, placing his hand over Tony’s to still him. “So come on… Why don’t you leave with the fella you came in with?”

“Alright, _fine_.”

* * *

While they wait outside for a cab to come around, Tony lights up then offers one to Rogers, who accepts.

Tony takes a drag. “Cockblockin’ grampa too self-righteous to let anybody have a good time,” Tony grumbles under his breath.

Cap’s hearing must have recovered quickly from the din of the club because he replies, “I know how to have a good time.”

_That’s rich._

“Then why didn’t you hook up with that cute little brunette? The guy’s been eye-fucking you all night. I’m sure he would’a blown you at least.”

And now Cap looks a little squirrely as he taps the ash off his cigarette. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony just gives him a look. “Oh come on, Cap. Maybe Howard’s oblivious, but I’m not. I know you wouldn’t be opposed to a little… canoodling with men. You’re not a bad-looking guy, if one was into muscly Adonises with the values of a fifteenth century nun, but maybe – and this is just a thought – you’d be less a killjoy if ya loosened up and got your dick wet.”

“I don’t… what? I mean… I think you – that is to say–”

“Relax. I’m not gonna say anything, and no one else is going to figure it out, least of all my old man. Howard still doesn’t know I’m bisexual, and I’m barely hiding it as it is.”

He looks over at Tony, his expression guarded. “You don’t think it’s… deviant?”

“Normal human variation, Cap. Women are great – I love them – but sometimes you just want to suck a dick, and that’s fine, too.” Tony drops his butt, grinding it into the pavement with the toe of his shoe as he flags down a yellow cab.

“I can still get discharged for it,” Cap points out.

“Oh please,” he opens the door for Rogers. “Like they’re going to discharge Captain America.”

* * *

Tony insists they enter the mansion from the back servant’s entrance. He’s drunk, and he just wants to go to sleep without enduring another lecture from his old man.

When Cap looks like he wants to say something, Tony tut-tuts. “Not looking for any comments from the peanut gallery, so spare me the lecture, Spangles.”

And now the man just looks constipated. “I’m not lying to your father about where we went tonight.”

“You don’t have to lie. You just need to be selectively truthful about your activities. You didn’t get drunk; you met a lot of interesting people and were the perfect gentlemen.”

“What if he asks about you?”

Tony simply shakes his head. “He’s not going to. One of the perks of being a lost cause.” Tony slips out of his shoes. “Now take off your boots. They’re much too noisy to sneak back in.”

They make it to the foot of the staircase before Howard flips on a lamp in the parlour room. He’s sitting in his recliner, wearing his house robe, slippers, and signature frown of disappointment.

Tony slowly steps down from the first stair. He tries for casual. “What’re you doing up so late, Howard? Burning the midnight oil thinking up the next great innovation? Maybe that flying car Captain Rogers has been telling me about.”

Howard stands, advances towards them. “Rotary Club ended hours ago, Tony. Where did you take him?” He sniffs. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Thought it would be a nice change of pace to show him what the average young person is doing these days. It was fine; nothing happened.”

“Jesus, son. You’re underage. I know you don’t care about that, but you could have gotten Steve a misdemeanor for buying you liquor.” He turns to Rogers. “They increased it a few years back, but the legal drinking age is 21 these days.”

“I only had a couple, less than what I have at home,” Tony lies.

“A couple glasses of wine at dinner is _not_ public drunkenness.”

“It’s fine, Howard,” Cap interjects. “It was kind of nice to get out of the house. Tony is a good guide; I had fun.”

Howard seems to consider it. He doesn’t look exactly happy, but he clearly doesn’t want to continue this argument in front of their guest. And so he lets Tony off with a “Just don’t let it happen again, son,” and that’s the end of it.

Despite the positive turn of events, Tony is irritated. Howard only backed off because _Cap_ vouched for him.

And so, when both are standing outside Tony’s room, he accuses the man: “You didn’t have fun.” He’s leaning up against the door frame, thumbs hooked in his jeans. “You didn’t have to lie. I know you hated it there.”

Cap shrugs. “It was nice to not be Captain America for a few hours.”

“Selective truth?”

“Hm,” he hums. He lifts an arm to scratch the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to say it in front of your father, but Tony… maybe clubs aren’t the healthiest place for you.”

“I said I didn’t need the lecture,” Tony says flatly.

“It’s just… I know it’s none of my business, but you seemed to be there to forget more than to actually have fun.”

He frowns. “You’re right, Cap. It _is_ none of your business.”

* * *

From then on, Howard encourages Tony to spend more time with Rogers, perhaps hoping his virtue will rub off on Tony. Tony supposes if Howard doesn’t want to take the time to be a role model for his son, then Captain America is not a bad substitution.

Not that Tony doesn’t enjoy spending time with Cap. Once he looks past his awful fashion sense and outdated almost-grandfatherly sensibilities, he isn’t such a bad guy.

_He’s funny–_

“Any plans this weekend?” Tony had asked him one random Thursday.

Steve had simply shrugged. “Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so… No, not really.”

_Considerate–_

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Steve had said as he helped Tony up from his prone position over a public toilet. He carefully wiped the vomit from his chin and the blood from his nose, then took him home, staying with him until the early hours of the morning to make sure he did not drown in his own sick. “You can’t keep doing this, Tony,” he had told him quietly the following morning before heading back to the guest room. “I worry about you.”

“Don’t, Cap. I’m fine. Really. This is– it was a bad night, but I’m fine.”

 _And it also didn’t hurt that Steve Rogers is_ very _easy on the eyes._

“Are you sure these pants fit?” Steve struts out of the changing room, circling in front of the department store mirror, trying to look at his outfit from all sides.

Tony gulps. “Yeah, they’re great.”

“It’s just… I’m no stranger to tight pants. I was on the USO Tour for months, but this seems a little excessive. My underwear feels like it’s bunching up.”

“Yeah, about that…” Tony holds up a pack of Calvin Klein’s. “What’s your opinion on boxer briefs? Yay or nay?”

Of course, all that doesn’t mean they didn’t bump heads from time to time.

“You’re smarter than this!” Steve is yelling at him in a back-alley outside a rave one night.

Tony is curled up against the dumpster. He’s keeping his hands to himself now, wrapped around a half-empty water bottle, as he comes down from his high. “It’s a common party enhancer. I fail to see what the big deal is.”

“You took a pill–”

“E.”

“–offered to you by a random stranger who had to be at least fifteen years older than you. Your inhibitions have been compromised,” Steve tells him. “You almost let him fuck you on the dance floor.”

“I wasn’t… You’re overreacting.”

“You were practically hanging off him as he…” Steve makes a ridiculous grinding motion with his hips. For someone with the balance and strength of a dancer, he sure is clumsy when it comes to crude innuendo.

Tony throws up his hands. “Well, you weren’t interested when I came onto you!”

Steve’s face turns beet-red, from embarrassment or anger, Tony is uncertain.

“Of course I wasn’t!” _And doesn’t that sting?_ “You were so messed up, you could barely see straight! Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to take candy from strangers as a child?”

“I am _not_ a child!” Tony protests, rather petulantly.

Steve’s face screws up in anger. Definitely anger. “Well, you could have fooled me.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me, to live my life.”

“In a nice house with two parents and enough money and privilege to hang yourself with? Yeah… I don’t.”

Tony draws back as if slapped. “Fuck you, Steve.”

“Tony–”

“No! I just want to go home.”

Steve stops, steps away. “… I’ll hail us a cab.”

* * *

The cab ride home is silent, with each member of the duo looking out their respective windows at the passing scenery and neither trespassing on the no man’s land between them. And when they arrive at the mansion, Tony pays and leaves, not even waiting to see if Steve will follow him. Steve doesn’t try, and somehow that is worse.

Steve gives him his space after, allowing them both a chance to cool down, because he is considerate like that.

Tony is less so.

He knocks on Steve’s door, cracking it open seconds later when he becomes impatient at the lack of response. Steve is wearing his pajamas, already tucked into bed, a book on his lap.

“Tony? What are you–”

Tony closes the door behind him. “You’re an ass, Rogers, and I’m still angry at you.”

Steve pulls back the covers, getting up to tie a robe around himself, like the old man Tony keeps forgetting he is. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Well, I didn’t want to go to bed angry with you. What if you died of an aneurysm in your sleep, and I never got to properly yell at you? What then, huh?” For all his good qualities, Steve could be so selfish sometimes.

The man in question raises a brow. “So, I’d be dead, and your first concern would be that you didn’t get to tell me off?” he says slowly, incredulously.

Tony crosses his arms. “Well, of course it sounds bad when _you_ say it like that.”

“There’s a better way to phrase it?”

“ _Yes,_ but we’re getting side tracked. I came here because you are a grade-A bona-fide ass, and I thought you should know that before you died,” Tony practically hisses, his voice low. “I mean… where do you get off telling me what to do with my life, huh? If I want to screw the guy supplying me with happy pills, then who are you to say I can’t?”

Steve places his hands on his hips. “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying you _shouldn’t_. I just… I don’t understand why you do the things you do sometimes. You’re too smart to act this stupid.”

And perhaps it says something about their relationship that Steve has the ability to inspire shame with his disapproval, something even Howard had yet to achieve.

“Don’t you ever wish you could escape being Steve Rogers for an evening? Aren’t you ever exhausted being who you are with all the expectation and baggage that entails?”

He can see Steve hesitate, recalibrate his response. “…Is that why you like being Chris Allen?”

“No, not really. He’s just convenient. Everybody likes him but only because he has none of Tony’s problems to burden them with and pays for everyone’s drinks with no expectation of receiving anything in return. He’s easy to like.”

“I like Tony better.”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, like that makes any sense.” Steve likes him because he has to, because his livelihood depends on it, just like everyone else in his life.

Steve steps closer. “I’m being serious. Before… I had things I wanted to do, things to look forward to after the war, but when the Valkyrie was going down, I thought… this is it for me, you know? I didn’t want it to be, but it was the only way to save everyone, and I had to be okay with that. And then after, when I woke up… everything I was looking forward to was gone, and I had nothing–”

“Nothing except a legacy and old friends who would put their lives on hold, who would bend over backwards to bring you home.”

Steve only shakes his head. “I never asked for that.”

“Well, that’s what you got, and now you get to live the high life.”

“You don’t get it. I was fully prepared to die in the ice. I wasn’t prepared to live after. Living’s harder, son. Trust me.”

Tony nearly bristles; his nostrils flare. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Son?”

“You’re not my father.”

“Yeah, because if I was, I’d straighten you out right quick. How did Howard–”

Tony can’t take it anymore. “Howard didn’t do anything, and that was the problem! He doesn’t care about me; he only ever cared about you!” he explodes. He flexes his fingers into claws, wanting to tear into Steve. “He never shut up about you my entire life.”

“That why you’re always acting up?”

“Shut up,” Tony warns him.

“I mean… I guess it makes sense. Negative attention is still attention.”

“I said shut up.”

“But this lifestyle is going to get you killed someday.”

“That’s it!” Tony exclaims, before grabbing Steve by the lapels of his flannel pajama top and kissing him to finally quiet his incessant noise.

Steve is surprised, his lips frozen and body stiffened momentarily before he melts, his hands slipping around to Tony’s lower back to pull him in closer and deepen their kiss. Tony paws at his clothing, divesting him of his robe and unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt before giving up entirely to slip into his flannel pants and palm his growing erection.

Steve startles and pulls back, breathing heavily as he quickly removes Tony’s hands from his pants. “We can’t–”

“It’s fine, Steve,” Tony tells him, his fingers lightly plucking at the elastic waistband. “No matter how fucked up I get, I always use protection and get tested regularly. I know I’m clean, and I know you have condoms.” He had given him a pack of Magnums, which… well, he did just feel him up. They’ll fit. “We’ll be careful,” he tries to calm the other man’s concerns.

But Steve is already stepping away to re-adjust his pants. “I’m not talking about syphilis or the Clap.” He’s still hard, the soft material leaving nothing to the imagination.

Tony eyes the bulge, still more than a little interested. “Well, neither am I. Those are treatable these days. Penicillin. You’ve heard of it, right? Useful stuff.”

“It’s wrong,” Steve insists, redoing the lower buttons of his shirt.

“It’s a whole new world. There’s nothing wrong with a little… experimentation with another man.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales, clearly exasperated. “You’re Howard’s kid.”

Tony pauses in disbelief. “ _That’s_ what’s bothering you?”

“You’re saying it _doesn’t_ bother you? Jesus, Tony, I’m old enough to be your father. Your grandfather even.”

He raises a brow. “You’re telling me that you’re going to start hitting up nursing homes to find partners your own age.”

“No!” Steve looks horrified then sheepish. “Well… maybe. I don’t know!”

“Face it, Cap. You’re going to break hips along with hearts barking up that tree.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not hard up enough to take advantage of my friend’s kid while he’s working through some latent daddy issues.”

Tony’s mouth thins into a hard line. “You know what? Fuck you, buddy.”

“I can understand you’re feeling… disappointed.”

“Oh fuck no! You are _not_ giving me after-school-special Captain America. I am way too old for that.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“That I’m not crazy. That I didn’t imagine you wanted me because… yeah, well, maybe it would be nice if someone took me seriously _for once_ , like an equal instead of some messed-up kid with too much money, too little supervision, and a name that’s too big for him to ever live up to,” Tony says, rubbing his elbow, feeling smaller than he has in a while.

Steve looks away, mumbles, “You’re not crazy.”

“Then why…” – a sigh – “I don’t know why I’m even asking. All I ever was, all I ever will be is Howard Stark’s kid, with all the opportunities and restrictions that entails.” He meets Steve’s eye. “Isn’t it enough for me to just be _Tony,_ just this one time?”

And now Steve is cupping his face. “Hey. Hey Tony. Look at me.” Their eyes meet. “You’re amazing, all right? You’re smart and funny and you’re going to do great things someday if that’s what you want. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, not even your father. You can do anything you put your mind to, and not just because you’re a Stark, but because you’re you.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Would Captain America lie to you?” Steve says, using the Captain America voice, the one from his numerous reels.

Tony bites his lips. He doesn’t miss how the motion draws Steve’s eye. “Maybe not, but Steve Rogers might, if he thought it would make me feel better.”

“He might try, but he’s a terrible liar. His poker face is awful.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“Why not a little test, then?”

Steve is suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

“I want you to look me in the eye, and tell me you don’t want me.”

He looks away. “Tony…”

“My eyes are over here, Steven.”

And so Steve looks him directly in the eye and states as firmly as he can manage: “I don’t want you.”

Tony smiles. He casually places his arms over Steve’s shoulders to loosely encompass his neck. “Huh. You really are a terrible liar.” He draws in closer to kiss his jaw as Steve takes a shuddering breath. Tony watches his Adam’s apple dip. “You don’t always have to do the right thing, Cap. We all make mistakes, and I’d love to be one of yours,” he murmurs into his ear before sucking on the lobe.

Steve slides his hands up on either side of Tony’s waist, but instead of pushing him away, he pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him until Tony is pressed flush against him. He meets Tony’s wondering lips in a kiss and doesn’t shy away when Tony works his hands under his flannels.

They have both removed their shirts by the time they meander back to the bed. Tony slides off Steve’s pants and pushes him back across the mattress just as he slips out of his own and mounts Steve’s narrow waist, his knees on either side. His hand reaches down between his legs to fondle Steve’s erection.

“Tony…” Steve groans between sloppy kisses. “Tony, I… I’ve never–”

“Shh, Steve… It’s okay. I know what to do.” He strokes Steve. His voice is soft, promising, “I’ll show you, honey.”

Tony doesn’t know exactly where Steve stores his supplies, but he has a good guess, fumbling with the nightstand drawer until it opens then rifling through the contents before his hand closes on a bottle then a cardboard box. “I’ll show you how to open me up, get me lose enough to take your cock, yeah?”

Steve sucks in a breath, nods his assent.

It has been a while for Tony, so they go slowly, with Tony molding Steve’s finger around his own, lubing it up, and pressing it to his center, guiding him in the way he liked to be touched. Steve is a quick study as he experiments with Tony’s body under his instruction, learns what feels good for him, how to make him gasp and pant until Tony is loose and pliant and wanting. They try to stay quiet, mindful of where they are, and Steve swallows Tony’s cries as he fingers him to the brink of orgasm.

“Stop, Steve,” Tony begs, and Steve immediately stills.

“Did I hurt you?”

Tony pants, his breath evening. “I want you inside me, and if you keep going…”

“Alright, sweetheart.” Steve withdraws his fingers, reaching for a condom. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” He tears open the package and rolls it down over his erection.

Tony laughs at his star-spangled member. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at your dick, but… that really does look ridiculous.”

Steve is unimpressed, but he kisses Tony anyway, sheathing himself in Tony’s tight heat in one fluid motion as the man below him nearly squeaks and grunts. It turns into a moan as Steve thrusts, one hand on Tony’s inner thigh to keep him spread and the other arm folded next to his head to anchor Steve, to keep him steady as he looms over Tony. Their skin is slick and tacky where their bodies meet.

Tony can feel it, the heat blooming in his belly, rising up and threatening to overtake his body. “Steve… Steve, I’m– I’m close,” he whispers against his neck, sucking in a breath at a particularly hard thrust.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, wrapping a hand around Tony’s cock rubbing between their bodies. He strokes it in time with his thrusts. “It’s alright. You can come for me; you’re so good, so goo–”

Tony rears up to kiss him, muffling his cry as he comes between their bodies. Steve thrusts roughly, erratically, before tensing himself as he comes. He slips out soon after, holding on to the base of the condom to make sure it stays on.

Tired, Tony looks at the stretched out latex and starts to softly chuckle again.

“At least they work,” Steve says, as he pulls it off and ties the end for disposal.

“Come here, honey.” Tony pulls him down to capture his kiss again. He can feel something press against his leg, so he looks down. “Uh…”

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, a touch embarrassed. “It’s… um, well, you see… the serum. It–”

Tony gives him a look, an impish gleam twinkling in his eyes. “Round two?”

* * *

Tony tries to sneak out of Steve’s room before dawn. A hand wraps around his wrist, the fingers warm and gentle. “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

“Back to my room. My parents aren’t awake yet, but… well, I don’t think either of us wants them to catch me here,” Tony explains.

Steve releases him, allowing Tony to collect his clothing and get redressed. “See you at breakfast?” he asks, just as Tony creaks open the door.

“Sure thing, Cap,” and with that, he slips out and down the hall.

* * *

Tony had thought last night had gone well. He and Steve had boned things out and were on the right track to more late-night rendezvous and orgasms. Things couldn’t be better...

…Which is why it comes as a shock when Steve announces at dinner that he had found an apartment and will be moving out the following week.

“Are you sure, Captain Rogers?” Maria had asked. “You can stay for as long as you’d like. We’ve enjoyed having you as our guest.”

“You have all been so kind and welcoming, but I think it’s time I got back out there on my own, integrate into the wider world so to speak. Peggy offered me a job at S.H.I.E.L.D., and with the initial sign-on bonus, I can find a place in the city.”

“Well, you’re always welcome to come back for dinner,” she offers. “I know it can get lonely living on your own.”

“Thank you, ma’am, for housing me and for your continued hospitality.”

“I’m glad to see you’re adjusting well, Steve,” Howard had told him. “Though I’m certain Tony here will miss you. You’ve been such a good influence on him.”

“Tony can visit me anytime.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s all the way across town,” Tony adds, his tone carefully neutral.

Howard frowns. “I’m sure Tony will miss you and visit often,” he says sternly.

Tony is quiet at that. _If only Howard knew what he is asking of him…_

And so he simply picks at his dinner until he figures enough time has passed for him to be excused.

Steve catches up with him later. “Tony, I’d like to talk to you.”

Tony sighs, fidgets in place. “Then talk.”

“I know it’s sudden, but–”

“It’s fine,” he says, in a tone that clearly broadcasts it is anything but. “It was just a one-night-stand. I’ve had a bunch of those.”

“Tony–”

“We were just having a little fun. It’s not like I expected anything to come out of it.” The timing is no accident. Steve is leaving, and it is Tony’s fault, as usual, but Tony is used to it. No one ever stays for Tony Stark, which is why Tony generally bails first. He had just gotten a bit too deep this time, but he’ll correct that mistake. He’s already withdrawing, steeling himself for Steve’s inevitable exit from his home and life both. He doesn’t need Steve. He can find himself half a dozen men like him in no time. Fuck every single one in succession until the resemblance no longer aches.

But Steve insists, “I can’t live here sneaking around under your father’s nose if we are to have a relationship.” He draws closer, his hand running down from Tony’s elbow to wrist then further to intertwine with his fingers. “And I would very much like to continue seeing you.”

Tony swallows, his mouth dry. “…You want to be with me?”

“If you’ll have me,” Steve says, his smile a touch nervous. “I got an apartment in Brooklyn. It’s not much, but–”

“Okay.”

He brightens. “So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah,” Tony confirms, remaining carefully nonchalant even as his heart soars. “You already got us a love nest and everything for, you know, more discreet liaisons. I’m not home every night, so if I stay over, Howard won’t suspect a thing.”

He must have said something wrong, because Steve frowns, his brow furrowed. “I thought we might tell your father–”

Tony shakes his head. “No, Steve. No way. He would absolutely flip his shit. He doesn’t even know I’m bi.”

“I could help you talk to him. Maybe–”

“Steve. He’s not ready for that level of honesty. Trust me.” Knowing Howard, he’d likely blame Tony for corrupting an American icon, thereby sullying his legacy on two fronts, and Tony is simply not ready to be disowned yet.

“If you think it’s for the best…” Steve acquiesces, even if he doesn’t look too happy about it.

“Yes.” Tony drops Steve’s hand to hold himself, his fingers twitchy and tapping against the opposite arm as he looks away. “You don’t know Howard like I do.” He just wants to hold onto this slice of private happiness just a little longer before Howard inevitably ruins it.

Steve wraps his arms around him, holding him tight, making him feel safe. “It’s alright, Tony,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. “We don’t have to tell him anything if you’re not ready to come out. Take however long you need.”

* * *

Tony helps Steve order a few pieces of furniture – a bed, couch, and small dining set – to be delivered the day he is scheduled to move. Steve then boxes what minimal possessions he had acquired in the months since he had been defrosted. Tony loads them up in his car and follows Steve’s motorcycle to his new apartment, taking care to memorize the way, though it is a tad difficult to do so when he is distracted by the way Steve looks on his bike.

And so it happens that Steve has barely unwrapped his new mattress and pulled a fitted sheet over it when Tony topples him over the surface and suggests they christen the new bed (and every room in the new apartment), his hips suggestively gyrating against Steve’s own.

Steve fondly brushes back Tony’s hair. “You’re insatiable, sweetheart.”

“And you have a negligible refractory period. What do you say we stress-test it a bit?”

Tony is the first to tap out… three orgasms later. He lies, wrung-out and sore and sticky, atop Steve on the couch.

“But we haven’t even done the kitchen yet,” Steve mock-complains, his fingers light on the over-sensitized skin of Tony’s lower back.

Tony groans, doesn’t even bother to lift his head. “What happened to ‘but I prepare food on those counters’?”

“Considering where my tongue has been, that’s not exactly the issue I thought it’d be.”

“Ass.”

“I was trying to be politely suggestive. No need to call me out like that.”

Tony slaps him on the side, but it comes out more of a tap than anything. “We can do the kitchen later. There’s still time.”

“You and I have all the time in the world.”

* * *

Howard invites Steve for dinner two weeks after he has settled into his new apartment. Steve accepts, dressing up nicely to visit his old friend (and the father of his secret boyfriend). He shows up early, so Tony insists Steve come up to his bedroom so he can show him the new schematics for some upgrades SI will be presenting to S.H.I.E.L.D., to get his professional opinion of course.

“Do you have a sample of this new impenetrable cloth?” Steve asks as Tony closes the door.

“Yeah,” Tony kisses him, his fingers already working at loosening his belt. “But mostly I just wanted to blow you.”

“Sweetheart, your parents are downstairs.”

He undoes the fly. “Didn’t bother you before.” He drops down to his knees, pulling Steve’s half-hard dick through the slit in his underwear.

Steve’s knees nearly buckle as he steadies himself on the desk behind him.

“You might want to hold onto that,” Tony tells him, as he strokes Steve to a full erection.

However, before he can so much as lick the tip, Howard barges in without knocking. “Tony, did you show–” he stops.

Tony drops Steve’s dick, standing up quickly to cover his lover while Steve tucks himself back into his pants.

“Out!” Howard shouts, face red, finger pointing towards the door. He’s so angry with Tony, so upset that his (former) son had corrupted a veritable national treasure, the singular Captain America, that he can barely speak more than a single command.

Steve is already trying to do damage control. “Howard, I can explain–”

It’s sweet really, Tony thinks, how Steve is trying to stick up for him, but this day has been a long time coming. “It’s okay, Steve,” he tells him before turning wet eyes to Howard. “Just… Let me pack up a few things, and– and I’ll be on my way.” He wipes the unshed tears with the heel of his hand before they can fall.

He knew his father valued Captain America over him, would always choose Steve first, and now Tony has proven to be the bad apple spoiling the bunch. It was inevitable, something he told himself that he’d be able to handle when this all came to a head. He knew this; he knew.

And yet–

Tony swallows a lump. Facing the stark reality of his father’s priorities is harder than he had initially anticipated.

“Uh… Tony?” Steve says, somewhat perplexed.

Howard is equally baffled. “Jesus Christ… Not you.” He points to Steve. “Him.” He addresses his old friend, his tone awash in barely-contained ire. “I welcome you into our home. I introduce you to my family and help you get back on your feet, and this is how you repay me? By seducing my only son?! Tony is just a boy.”

Steve looks chastened, unsure what to say, how he can possible defend himself against such charges…

Luckily, Tony has the experience and long-simmering resentment to do both.

“Hey! I’m an adult,” he protests, drawing his father’s ire.

Howard scoffs at the very notion. “You are a child, and he is a grown man who should know better–”

“Oh really? That’s not what you said last Christmas! Which is it, Howard? Am I a man who should put aside childish things, or am I a child?”

“You are _my_ child. You are my son, and he–” he points to Steve yet again “–is my contemporary. He was born in 1918! He’s fifty-two years older than you!”

“And you’re twenty years older than Mom!” Tony counters. “At least Steve is physically only eight years older than me. His time spent as a Capsicle doesn’t count!”

Steve clasps Tony’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “Tony… Your father is right. I think I should go.”

_Oh fuck no._

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Howard steps forward to roughly grab his arm. “No, you’re not.”

Tony’s eyes narrow as he yanks his limb away, almost daring Howard to manhandle him again. “Watch me.”

“Tony…” Steve says, trying to diffuse the situation.

And so Tony turns to him, fists clenched, back straight. “Either I go with you, or I go alone, but I’m not staying here with _him_.” He points at his father.

He won’t spend another night under Howard’s roof, living this half-life under the thumb of a man who cared only about his legacy, whether that was finding Captain America or the concept of an heir, ignoring his actual son – Tony’s wants and needs – in the process. If Howard had _ever_ cared about him as a person, then he never demonstrated it to Tony in the intervening years, his entire life if Tony is being honest with himself. And it was far too late to start caring _now_.

Steve’s fingers interlace with Tony’s. “…Alright,” he concedes.

“You are not taking my son, Rogers.”

“Of course he’s not,” Tony says, rounding on Howard. “I’m taking your white whale.”

Steve looks crushed. “Tony, is that what _this_ is?”

“No! It’s… I like you, Steve. I didn’t expect to, but I do. I want to be with you. Please, Steve.”

And how could Steve say no to that? “Alright, if that’s what you want,” he says, his eyes warm.

“Son–” Howard tries again, softer this time, less authoritative.

“I’m finally happy, Howard, after all these years, and I’m not going to let you ruin it.” He pushes past him, pulling Steve in tow as he makes his way down the corridor then the stairs.

“Tony?” His mother inquires as he clears the last step.

Tony pauses, walks up to her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I– I can’t stay. I just…”

She’s looking at where Tony and Steve’s hands are joined together, realization spreading across her face.

“We’ll be fine,” he tries to tell her. “I’ve always been this way, and Steve… Steve’s good to me. He makes me happy. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorr–”

She embraces him then, tracing circles in his back, like when he was a young boy in need of soothing. “Hush now, Tony. It’s… it’s alright. I’ll always love you, and you can always come back.” She looks pointedly at Steve over Tony’s shoulder. “Take care of him, Captain Rogers.”

“I will, ma’am,” Steve promises.

Tony wipes his eyes on his sleeve, and heads out with Steve into the night. When they return to Steve’s apartment – their apartment now – Steve gives Tony an oversized shirt and sleep shorts to change into for the night. They still need to sort out Tony’s employment at SI and all his belongings left hastily back at the Stark mansion, but for now, Steve holds him with their limbs intertwined as he soothes the cries wracking his frame. He lets Tony know that no matter what happens, he is safe here with Steve. Every challenge, every bump in the road, they’ll face it together.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Steve whispers into his hair, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Tony only chokes on a sob. He’s not ready to say it back – he barely knows what love is – but that’s okay; Steve can wait.

“I love you,” he tells him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Howard refuses to work on a new super-soldier serum (one super-powered son-corrupting asshole is enough), thereby avoiding assassination in 1991. He and Tony don’t speak for a couple years, but Maria keeps in contact with Tony and invites him over for Christmas at some point, promising him his father will behave. Tony says he’s not going if Steve isn’t invited too, which Howard balks at, but Maria forces him to eventually agree. Christmas is a very VERY strained affair that nearly devolves into a fist fight within thirty minutes. After Tony and Steve adopt, Tony struggles with fatherhood. He then sort of reconciles with his father for his own closure. They can spend time in the same room without fighting, but they are never close.


End file.
